


turn the lights off (i'm all yours)

by trustingno1



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 10:37:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1263169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trustingno1/pseuds/trustingno1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Are you thinking about her</i>, he wonders, as John kisses the back of his neck, <i>right now?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	turn the lights off (i'm all yours)

**Author's Note:**

> Drive-by mini-fill for a kink meme [prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21766.html?thread=130394630#t130394630); title from ZZ Ward's _If I Could Be Her_. 
> 
> Set post-3x03 and post Mary.

John takes him to bed for the first time on an otherwise-unremarkable Wednesday night, tasting like curry and desperation, his hands on Sherlock's waist, rucking up his shirt, fingertips dancing along his bare stomach, and he breaks the kiss, panting a little, warm and humid against the base of Sherlock's throat.  
  
"Yeah?" he asks - eloquent as ever - and Sherlock swallows, and nods, and John kisses his jaw, almost chastely, before reaching for the buttons on Sherlock's shirt, deftly undoing them. He glances down between them as he undoes the buttons on Sherlock's sleeve cuffs before pushing the shirt off his shoulders, and he has to lean up a bit to do it, and Sherlock smiles, very slightly. "Shut up," John murmurs, affectionate and _warm_ , and Sherlock's never loved anyone with this kind of all-consuming intensity (never again will, he knows; in this regard - and many others, if he's honest - John Watson is a peculiarity, an anomaly).  
  
He meets Sherlock's gaze, smiling, just - _happy_ (not conflicted or hurting, inebriated or furious, and in all the times he's allowed himself to imagine this (and he _has_ , stretched out on his bed, covers pushed to the end of his bed, turning his head to bite at the pillow or his forearm as he touched himself) he rarely let himself imagine a John so uncomplicatedly _happy_ ).  
  
John doesn't break his gaze as he undoes Sherlock's belt, slow and purposeful, and his hands haven't strayed below Sherlock's waist, yet ( _yet_ ), but there are embarrassing little shivers running down Sherlock's spine when the backs of John's fingers brush against his bare stomach, and his own hands hang, uselessly, by his side, fingers curling and uncurling. He can't help but smile, just a little, and when John touches Sherlock's trousers, John's gaze and smile falter, just for a moment, but - _oh_. Of course. Unsurprising, yes, but, _oh_ , the disappointment squeezes his chest tight, steals his breath.  
  
He leans down to kiss John again (doesn't want to see his expression right now, just - _can't_ ), hands cupping his cheeks, sliding down his neck, and John's pulse jumps beneath his fingertips.  
  
"How," he murmurs, against John's mouth, "do you want me?"  
  
John sucks in a noisy breath through his nose then kisses Sherlock's top lip, deliberately, almost delicately.  
  
"Can you," he says, softly, "can you - hands and knees?"  
  
"Anything," he breathes, immediately  
  
(and, ah, there's the rub. Because he _would_ do anything for John Watson.  
  
(Even this)).  
  
  
  
(He fingers himself, working himself open, biting his lip as his wrist cramps and his chest _aches_ and John curls up against his side and Sherlock closes his eyes.  
  
The lights and bed covers turned down, he rolls over and kneels, John between his legs, urging his thighs further apart, one hand gripping his shoulder, hard, the head of his cock fat and leaking where it's pressing into him (pressing into him and pressing him _open_ , and he's never felt so _exposed_ ) slow and unrelenting until John pauses, hips flush against Sherlock's.  
  
 _Are you thinking about her_ , he wonders, as John kisses the back of his neck, _right now?_  
  
Sherlock pushes his forehead hard into the mattress, pushes back into John and just -  
  
breathes).  
  
  
  



End file.
